


Obsolete

by sinestrated



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Gen, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian doesn't like interacting with MXs. John finds out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsolete

**Author's Note:**

> So between Dorian being an obsolete model, and the MXs being all logic-based and tactless, I'd imagine they'd microaggress against Dorian like whoa. Also, this is going to get Jossed like nobody's business.

John regarded the sliver of human tissue hanging from the ends of his tweezers and blew out a breath, shaking his head. “What a fucking mess.”

Next to him, Dorian hummed. Blue light flickered along the edge of his right cheek. “Looks like the remains stretch out for another two miles or so,” he said, before the corner of his mouth pulled down. “It’s lucky the driver caught it when he did, else we’d probably be scouring the entire length of the interstate.”

John nodded and spared a glance over at the unshaven, slightly overweight, middle-aged man currently talking to Detective Paul and his MX partner. Lucky. Yeah. The guy was probably going to have nightmares for years. After all, it wasn’t every day you found yourself leaving a trail of human body parts across miles of sunburnt highway because some psycho serial killer had strapped a dead prostitute to the bottom of your truck.

He sighed and deposited the piece of tissue gingerly in the center of Dorian’s palm. In the bright sunlight, it looked like a strip of uncooked bacon. John fought the urge to gag. “So. Got an ID?”

Dorian blinked at the specimen. His eyes took on that intense, middle-distance focus they always did whenever he accessed his internal database; the look never failed to creep John out, a jolting reminder of just how _not_ human his partner was.

After another moment, Dorian tilted his head. “The DNA matches to Tanya Redding, twenty-two years old, from Portland, Oregon.”

John nodded. “Any info that might help us pin down how she died?”

“Well.” A tiny furrow formed between Dorian’s eyebrows. It was another thing John was just starting to get used to: these minute human expressions, so incongruous on the blank faces of the MXs, yet completely at home on Dorian’s. “I’m running a full toxicology diagnostic…positive for ethanol and GHB, but that shouldn’t be surprising given our guy’s MO. But there’s…” The frown increased. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

Dorian blinked. His eyes took on their customary deep blue, focusing on John again. “There’s a foreign substance I can’t identify,” he said. “It’s an opioid peptide of some sort, similar in chemical structure to deltorphin but not quite the same.”

John wasn’t about to ask him what _peptide_ and _deltorphin_ meant. “An opioid, huh? So like another type of sedative?”

“I’m not sure.” Dorian regarded the piece of tissue in his palm. “My hardware upgrade isn’t scheduled till next week, so some of my archival files are a bit outdated. The MXs should know.”

“Okay.” John stood and peered down the highway, wincing at the dark red specks that dotted the road like a bad case of chicken pox. “Go ask Max over there, see if he can ID this magic substance for you. I’m gonna check out the rest of this happy trail.”

He started forward, but stopped upon noticing that Dorian hadn’t responded. John turned and saw his partner watching an empty section of highway. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Dorian looked…apprehensive.

John frowned. “What?”

Dorian glanced up at him, then just as quickly cut his eyes away. “Maybe you should talk to the MX,” he mumbled. John blinked. Androids could mumble?

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one with a goddamned laboratory inside your body,” he said. “Once Max IDs the chemical for you, you can start running diagnostics immediately, right? So it makes more sense for you to ask him.”

“Yeah,” Dorian agreed. But he still didn’t move.

John watched him for another moment and could’ve sworn the tiny movements of Dorian’s body were his partner shifting nervously on his heels. “For Christ’s sake, Dorian. _What?_ ”

Dorian looked up at him. His shoulders slumped. “Nothing,” he said, before turning and making his way over to Paul and his robotic partner.

John was left with the uncanny feeling of having just kicked a puppy. He shook it off with some effort and turned back to the road. Fucking weird. What was Dorian so scared of, anyway? The MX was an android too; he should be jumping at the chance to establish a two-way interface or initiate transmission of information via a WiFi hotspot or whatever it was they called it when two robots interacted.

Almost without his consent, his head turned and his eyes sought out Dorian again. His partner had by now made it over to where Paul was continuing to question the witness, and was engaged in a conversation with the other detective’s MX partner. From this distance, John couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could somehow tell from the downward slope of Dorian’s shoulders and the slight way he tucked his chin down that he wasn’t happy.

Frowning, John slipped an amplifier out of his pocket, pointed it in the direction of the two androids, and flicked it on.

“…of obsolete hardware,” the MX was saying.

Dorian sighed. “Come on, man, just answer my query, okay?”

“Your colloquialism subroutine is incompatible with my OS,” the MX answered. “By my estimate, it also decreases your processing efficiency by 4.2%. Recommend immediate software upgrade and erasure of all nonessential applications.”

“I’ve _been_ upgraded,” Dorian said, sounding frustrated, “and all my applications _are_ essential, they’re what makes me who I _am_ —”

“I am unable to comprehend the meaning of your verbalization,” the MX said. “Your conversational programming appears to be flawed. Recommend full diagnostic on all core systems—”

“Will you _stop_ ,” Dorian growled. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with me, okay, just because I’m an earlier model than you—”

“All of your basic hardware is inferior to mine,” the MX said, flat, matter-of-fact. “Internal memory insufficient, processing speed and archival data inadequate for police work. Core systems obsolete. Fifty-seven subroutines deemed flawed and eligible for decommission. DRN unit not recommended for law enforcement.”

“Okay.” Dorian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose; the movement made something tug at John’s heartstrings, even as a wave of fury began its slow, steady rise within his chest. “You know what, forget it, let’s just get this over with.”

Then he straightened up, face smoothing out into a perfect mirror of the MX’s, and when he spoke his voice was so flat and without intonation that for an instant John didn’t even recognize him.

“ _Unit DRN-0167 initiating query, recipient Unit MX-43-S79. Contents of request: Full biochemical analysis, reference Case File 17, Data Packet A-24. Wireless transmission initiated. Authorization: John Kennex, Detective, LAPD._ ”

Three seconds of silence as Dorian and the MX both stood there, facing each other, about as alive as two statues as their processor lights winked in the sun. Then the MX straightened. “ _Unit MX-43-S79 initiating response, recipient Unit DRN-0167. Contents of message: Query received, analysis complete. Reference attached lab report._ ”

“ _Thank_ you,” Dorian hissed, before spinning on his heels and heading back over toward John.

John quickly pocketed the amplifier and pretended to be engaged in examining another piece of tissue—this one disturbingly finger-shaped—as Dorian approached.

“So,” he said, as soon as he was certain his partner was within earshot. “How’d it go?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “No problems,” he said. “I’ll upload the report to your datapad.” The nonchalance in his voice sent a barb of pain through John’s chest.

“Okay.” He straightened and looked at Dorian, whose face held its usual soft, friendly expression. “Uh. Thanks.”

Dorian blinked. Then, very slowly, he smiled. The sight made John’s stomach do all sorts of weird things. “You’re welcome, John.”

They continued with their investigation for the rest of the day. And if, during the remainder of the shift, John caught himself on the term ‘synthetic’ and also decided to let Dorian have control of the radio for the first time, Dorian chose not to say anything.

The next morning, John brought his car tearing into the lot and somehow managed to miss Detective Paul’s MX until it was already a mangled, sparking mess under his tires. Paul called him all sorts of colorful names and Captain Maldonado gave him a Very Disapproving Look, but afterwards, watching the small smile play along Dorian’s lips as he looked out the car window, John couldn’t help but grin himself.

Worth it.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Regarding translations:** All my works, including this one, can be translated without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything other than translations, please ask first. Thanks.


End file.
